


The Bird House

by Bidawee



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Architects, Dark Ending, Deception, Dubious Morality, Love at First Sight, M/M, No Sex, Obsessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 18:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19409113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidawee/pseuds/Bidawee
Summary: Freddie builds Connor his dream house.





	The Bird House

**Author's Note:**

> this might be my last story with connor as a maple leaf and that scares me on so many levels, my friends.  
> the metaphors in this are obvious the pacing is a bit jank and it’s got problems BUT i had fun writing it so who really cares. NOT BETA'D
> 
> additional warnings and an explanation of the tags exist in the endnotes. please read them first if you are unsure about the story’s content.

When Freddie tells people he’s an architect, the first thing they confuse him with is a contractor or home builder, then an interior decorator. He can thank all the shows on televisions and spreads in newspapers and brochures for that. Building a house isn’t like decorating a cake. He _wishes_ his life was made-for-television dramatics. It sounds like it would be more entertaining than this: staring out the window over the sound of a podcast he has on in the background, waiting for news about what he’s going to be doing from the company head. 

Winter is long and never-ending so work is slow going into April. His father has no need for him to be doing much work in the down months, so Freddie spends most of his time working on commercial designs; stores in malls and bus shelters, to name a few. Hours of him being on the computer add up. He’s looking to take up to three assignments this year, if they’ll let him. That or something big to keep him on his toes. Anything, if it means he's not bored like this ever again.

At the end of Spring, they bring him in for a project just outside the city on Morris Street. It’s a two story house and the couple buying it are from Europe, heads of a manufacturing business firm in Spain. The wife is the client he speaks to the most, someone who is looking for a reason to come to Canada and start a new life. She wants something with lots of personality and colour but also functionality for her two young children and the third on the way. For this house, she’s happy to dump the millions she needs to have it as close to her vision as possible. 

One look at the property does him in. Two story it may be, it has five bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a pool with a pool house outside. He gives them three months, maybe four to have it done--that is, without any roadblocks to slow them down. It’s going to be a lot of work, regardless. 

Freddie is there to talk to the builders and answer questions about the blueprints or models. He’s much more active than what some of the more inexperienced architects would be, the ones that are there to come up with the basic design. He finds the common ground for the many people they will be bringing in, all from their different professions and none of them speaking the same language.

They have a big team on the side for this one. With international clients, that’s a given: you don’t want anything lost in translation. There are additional reasons why too: they only want to keep the bone structure of the house that was there before. They have big plans. They involve a lot of changes that need three or four look-overs to check for function, form, and safety. He’s got his work cut out for him.

He goes in expecting that with the blueprints laid out and subcontractors on the same page that there will be no surprises. It’s a new team of people he has with him which is not something to complain about, even if the word new does send him for a bit a loop. They will be the extensions of Freddie’s own hand. He will use them for his vision. It’s going to be perfect, because he said so.

Connor is the first of many things that don’t go to plan that day. Freddie first sees him when he steps out of his car with the news that the temporary electrical pole has been put up outside. The workers responsible are standing on the front lawn. Their faces are flushed.

He’s easy to notice. He reminds Freddie of those birds of paradise, with that bright orange hair of his. Even with his hard hat on and dirt on his cheeks, the boy is easily the prettiest person in the general area. Freddie has an eye for finding things like him in a crowd. It’s his job. 

Freddie has been both downtown and out in the country, he’s serviced hundreds of families and worked with even more teams. Connor is just another worker. He’s like that to Freddie in his first week. Thank goodness too, because it feels like everything goes wrong. Freddie has to have his full attention on the project at hand, not looking after pretty boys.

As he soon finds out, physical attractiveness is just one component of why Connor interests him so. He’s a gentle soul. For example, many workers will accidentally hit Freddie’s leg with the ladder when they walk upstairs; Connor places a hand on the curve of his waist and asks, polite, if they can come through (not if Freddie will move, it is less an order and more of a suggestion). He thanks Freddie for complying with the simplest of requests. 

He’s got a heart two sizes too big for his chest, so he wears it on his sleeve. Only Connor sees Freddie sitting in what will one day be the game room eating lunch and will take a seat next to him. 

For the first week, Connor is on friendship probation. Freddie is able to determine that he’s genuine, he’s not there because he wants something or thinks he can get anything out of Freddie for spending time with him. Once that’s over with, it means Freddie can now be tender with him. It was killing him not to be. Connor takes everything to heart, rejection first and foremost. Something as simple as Freddie being on his phone would wound him. 

Freddie inspects him like he would a house. He takes in how long Connor’s legs are, the width of his nose and how it’d fit in the slope of his for comparison, and how he grows out the hair in the front and crops it in the back. He collects the trinkets Connor gives him, both physical and verbal, and keeps them close to him. Anything shiny about Connor he likes, he takes. 

He doesn’t know why Connor of all people gets him going like he is. He lies in bed thinking about it. He’s that centrepiece Freddie would put in a room to complete the look but _human_. 

For all the things money can buy, the one thing he can’t have is Connor himself; as they’re working on the house, it would not be wise to tangle in relationship drama. So, Freddie keeps his feelings under lock and key. Until he figures them out, he doesn’t want to do anything stupid.

It’s good that his agent phones in about buying up property near the historic district when he does. Freddie has needed himself a nice big side project to keep his hands--and head--busy with. It being in the historic district is a bonus. It’s bound to be a nice flip when he does go out to generate some revenue on it.

The house’s only audiences are constructors and architects like himself, the few that would look at a house with termite infestations and water damage and see something great that could come out of it. 

As cheap as it is for its land value, Freddie’s team negotiates the price down to something more reasonable. By that point, he’s walked the perimeter twice and looked into the other houses on the street, spaced evenly apart with thin shrubbery on the edge of the sidewalk. He doesn’t want this house to stand out too much.

There being a shopping centre and middle school nearby is the icing on the cake. He fully anticipates making the best out of a bad situation, turning the mess into another collectable that real estate agents will slobber over. He knew it from the minute he laid eyes on it.

The house, like all houses, comes with a few features that make it stand out. The roof extends out like wings and in what was once the living room is a circular window, not the first of it’s kind that Freddie has found but certainly the most unusual. He feels like he’s inside of a birdhouse when he’s looking out from it.

It’s a silly comparison but like most, it sticks. Just by luck, he begins to call the project the Bird house. 

He’s put in an unusual position the day he sees Connor adjusting the electrical wiring running in the ceiling.

Connor is on the remains of the stairs after the demolition, balancing on the edge of one at the top to make up for the height difference between him and the ceiling. He looks just about ready to flop forward and down to the first story. Both his hands are up in the temporary ceiling support. It lifts his shirt up just enough for his belly to poke out. 

Without looking down, he notices Freddie is in the room with him. He ducks his head out from the hole it’s in. His entire face is bright red.

“Hey, can you give me a hand?” he asks. “I’m trying to get some load protection in here for the kitchen; can you hold my chest so I don’t fall over?”

Freddie drops the measuring tape he had in his one hand on the ground and walks over.

“Sure,” Freddie says, it sounds easy enough. Connor goes back to what he’s doing, this time with Freddie’s palms flat to his chest.

A minute or two goes by without Connor saying anything. The quiet is unbecoming of him and makes Freddie uncomfortable.

“So they didn’t put you down to work on the circuit breaker?” Freddie says, just for the sake of saying it.

“They got like, four guys down there. Besides, we need to test the wiring here. I’m not sure if with the new house it will be able to support all the new appliances.”

Freddie’s hands are becoming hot. His eyes are level with the ribcage, the height difference between them switched because of Freddie standing on a lower stair. 

“I just hope you don’t get electrocuted here or I’m going down with you,” Freddie jokes. 

Connor’s face is inside the opening but Freddie can tell he is smiling even without the visual indicators. “You can relax, I’m almost done.”

Freddie fights the temptation to explode more of Connor’s body with his hands. If they so much as move from their position on his chest, Connor is going down. He’s using Freddie’s body to stand where he is, his balance skewered by the weight he’s throwing around. 

True to his word, he finishes quickly, giving Freddie a pat on the shoulder to let him know he’s coming down. Freddie keeps his hands in place until Connor’s weight is put in his feet, where it belongs. Connor flashes him another smile in gratitude.

“Thanks, man.”

“Be careful out there,” Freddie says back. “You do know safety precautions extend to not falling down the stairs on duty, yeah?”

“I did take safety precautions, I had you here holding me.”

He says it with just enough power for the ends of his words to fray. Freddie can’t think of anything to say back. The jingle of the tools on Connor’s belt bounces around in his ear, becoming softer as Connor walks away. He slips out of his hands so easily. 

Whatever Connor did to Freddie lasts until long after the workday comes to a close. Freddie has nothing to do at home but work on ideas for the Bird house layout. He tries to invest his nervous energy into some sketches, to no avail. His straight lines become curls. The browns and blacks he uses become warm reds. The cozy living spaces open up. It’s automatic. It’s only when he’s connecting lines does he realize what he’s done and who’s responsible.

It’s not the first time it’s happened, just the first time he’s realized what the intent was. The whole week his pencil has been alive. It knows what it wants to draw and does so on repeat. 

Freddie’s problem has always been bringing character to the table. Making a house a home takes more than an open floor plan and new drywall with a fresh coat of paint. Then there’s Connor, who lights up any place he is in, even a wreck like the Morris house. Freddie wishes he could design a house after him. It’d be so easy. Everything is right there, tied in a cute little bow.

The idea gets comfortable in his headspace. He tears up the rough blueprints he was sketching, clearing the table of distractions. All he keeps is a single glass of water. He alternates between the computer to the drawing board at random intervals, trying to find the sweet spot. He can’t toss everything out on the graph paper. For his own sanity, there needs to be some balance.

He changes the tempo of what he was working on. He wants to continue with the brick, make it into a turn of the century type of home that feels like it could be lived in. He doesn’t have to renovate the insides and work with what’s already there, giving him much more freedom to plan from the ground up what would make for the best floor plan. 

Thankfully, no other design team is weighing in. This is all his to shape. He does call in some favours with people at the firm, usually the specifications writer to check and see if he’s using the right paint or if the quality of the steel he’s using for framing will be safe. That’s all. It’s all he needs.

Designing houses for other people can be soul sucking, particularly when good ideas go down the drain for aesthetic purposes. It’s nice to have that creative freedom back.

They’re starting work in the basement of the Morris house when someone points out that Connor is missing his helmet and glasses. The job site they’re on doesn’t exactly have handouts. Without them, Connor can’t be in the half-finished room. He’s a liability.

Connor comes to a solution fast: just go home and get them. He’s quick to point out the bus he took here should stop by the bus stop in about five minutes. A ten-minute drive there and then he’ll be on his way back. He says it like it's the best solution to the problem.

It’s not that Freddie holds anything against those who use public transportation but there are much better options right in front of him. Much better options being Freddie himself.

He offers his car, doesn’t take no for an answer, and walks out of the building with Connor in tow. There’s a dizzy feeling that comes with having Connor slide in the passenger seat, commenting that he likes the radio station Freddie’s listening to.

Connor lives with four other housemates in a graduate apartment downtown, as Freddie soon finds out. Freddie’s got his reservations even before entering. He takes note of the structural problems with the patio and deck, how the wire mesh that sits on the screen door has one too many holes. 

Inside is not much better. It needs renovations. If he had his way, Freddie would be testing for everything under the sun, lead-based paint too. He wouldn’t put it past a landlord sucking the pennies out of their tenants to not keep security up to date.

Connor deserves better. A wonderful thing like himself should be living in a nice Cape Cod style home with a fireplace and chimney. The telltale signs of empty cereal bowls and plastic glasses tell Freddie that financially, it’s an out of reach goal for the tenants here.

Connor laughs at the face Freddie is making. 

“We have it much better than this place looks,” he says. “You know us guys, we don’t sink money into renovations. It works don’t fix it, yeah?”

Not sound logic by any means. With a building this old there could be asbestos in the drop-down ceiling. Freddie wants to check the whole place out, for both his well being and Connor’s. The dust caking the corner spiderwebs should be swept out. He wants to take brush strokes to the chipping paint.

It’s not his house, so he can do none of that. All he can do is follow Connor out the door. There are two other pairs of work boots on the floor mat by the door vents. Misery loves company, so it seems. Connor did say something about living with other contractors. 

As they walk the cobblestone path, he wonders what it’s like for someone like Connor: an electrician involved in the process of building these huge homes, with third story conservatories and mud rooms the size of a family kitchen. He’s nurtured the seeds. All the money thrown at demolition, framing, painting, and he gets to go home to this.

He knows what he needs to do now. House flipping is the last thing on his mind. He wants to create something beautiful, for Connor. A safe haven. The Bird house is going to be something he’s never done before. It’s going to Connor’s.

There’s something so sweet about how Connor dresses his words. Words that come natural to him. Freddie can be sitting with his blueprints at his feet and Connor will open up a conversation that takes him away from everything he’s ever known. His production speed goes down considerably once he starts working around Connor and not with him.

It warms him being around Connor. It feels like the sun is on his face. It reminds him of being a child back in Denmark, sitting in front of the heating vents waiting for the blast of hot air.

The only real time they get alone together is at lunch. Infatuated he may be, Freddie has to start distancing himself from Connor to stop himself from getting distracted. Even if he gets a sick strike of heat that comes with ordering Connor around, it’s something to enjoy when he’s alone at home. There’s that and the fact that working in and around houses kicks you out of your own thoughts very fast, what with the drilling, hammering, twisting, and shouting. Not paying attention to the signs can leave you with a nasty, blood pulsing wound.

So he concentrates all his love and devotion during those few moments they have together, grabbing the crusts Connor throws at him about everyday life and what he finds worth talking to him about. That day, the conversation surrounds the Morris house, something Freddie wouldn’t talk about with anyone else on account of how boring it would be.

Connor’s got a bite of his sandwich lodged in one cheek. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This place is huge, man. It’ll take all summer to build.”

Freddie looks up at the ceiling. There are a few holes in places where the lights will go. “Eh, I’ve seen bigger.”

“I couldn’t imagine having the millions of dollars to throw at a place like this. I mean, these people have to be on the stock market or something, there’s no other explanation.”

“Some people are just rich.”

“Like you?” Connor’s eyebrows jump. “Where do you live? Is it big like this place?”

“I live in an apartment further downtown. By the lake.”

Connor looks shocked. “Dude, there’s no reason someone like you should be living in an apartment.” 

He should know that’s what most people in Freddie’s position do. No sense in investing in a house unless you’re ready to start a family.

“I just never found a house that I liked here. Made more sense to wait and savour it.”

“Wait and savour it,” Connor parrots. “I’ll use that someday. I feel you. I still live in the same place I had in college.”

Freddie shakes his head, screwing the lid off of the water bottle so that he can take a sip. “That place scares me. It had to be built in the 50s, there’s no other explanation for it looking like a dump.”

“Something like that. It’s far from being a dream home.”

Freddie leans forward. “So what is your dream home?” 

“I don’t know, I try not to get my hopes up but when I watch those house hunting channels they spin some ideas.”

“Tell me.”

“I want french doors and those big windows that stick out that you can put flowers in. If we’re talking fancy maybe those big washing machines, the ones that sing to you when they’re done? So that I don’t have to go to the laundromat.”

“Most people I know would ask for their own secret movie watching room. You’re not thinking big enough.”

“Hey, I’m happy if I can just pay off a mortgage. What about you? There has to be some house here that interests you.”

“Not really. I don’t like houses with too much colour. Something simple would be nice. A porch swing maybe.”

“A porch swing? That’s specific.”

“My grandmother has one.”

“I’d love a porch swing too. It’d be a great place to be in the summer.”

Connor babbles on more about summer and his older brother’s backyard pool. Freddie keeps him in the background, letting the sound of Connor’s voice transform into thoughts of design, shapes, and colours. 

Big french doors and windows. He can work with that. The backyard porch needs a wide-open entrance and the glass panels will do nicely. As for the living room, he can bring in some big four-sides bay windows to decorate with stencils, with solid oak floor under them. It’s not his calling but he has his eyes on planting perennials outside, so Connor can still have his flowers to look at.

The bedrooms have to be full of sun. Open and positive. There’s only so much he can do furniture-wise to help light bounce, the rest is up to the house. The curtains in the master are going to be one piece of sheer fabric over a rod, layered with a cross pattern. Freddie wants to go for dramatic up above, cut out sections of the roof to bring light in. It’s something he used to do a lot when making sunrooms up in cottage country. A nice long clerestory strip does wonders in opening the place up. It comes packaged with the image of Connor stretched out in bed, sunbeams kissing the skin; cooking him to a nice pink colour.

He tries not to get too out of hand with his ideas. If he lets go they multiply and tamper with what he’s seeing in front of him. He can’t be trying things that will reinvent the wheel on a small budget like he’s seen some architects do: the ones in the magazines. Freddie hates the things but admits he’s part of the problem by combing through their stories for ideas he can use for his own.

He knows few if any architects in there on a personal level. They always say the same thing, about how they were waiting for the chance to try something new. They talk about it like they’re picking out a new flavour of ice cream, not building a fucking house. 

He shares only two things in common with them: he’s found his muse and he’s building his dream house. 

Building houses comes down to a lot of compromises. With a tight renovation budget, both ends are biting the bit. That being said, Freddie can’t be held responsible for his clients wanting to change the location of the light fixtures after the room has come close to completion. If they want it, they have to fork over the money to pay them for it.

At eleven, after hours of talking to men in button-ups and pullovers on a work site about moving everything an inch to the right, he walks downstairs to get some space. His shoes scrape the whorls on the floor mats, collecting the dirt and sawdust in the grooves. His lunch pail, a blue cooler, sits by the back door with the other employees’. He’s not feeling the egg sandwich he has packed but his stomach is much less picky.

Connor comes inside with a belly streaked brown. Twigs and fern clumps stick to his belt. Freddie almost bumps into him because his head is down.

Freddie puts down his lunch and uses one hand to bring Connor’s head up. Smudges of dirt rub out on his fingers. “What happened to you?” 

“We had to dig up some of the foundation to get the wiring in.”

Freddie’s hands twitch. He doesn’t know if he should be reaching for the paper towels or the shower faucet. 

Connor takes his helmet off and shakes his hair out. His hands rake through the orange curls. “I know what you’re going to say. I need a bath.”

“You need a break,” Freddie says. “Is your back all right? You should come outside.”

“My uniform needs a wash, that’s it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t work like that.”

Connor laughs. “Trust me, this is nothing. I’m used to dirt.”

The only towels they have in the house are on the ground to protect the flooring around the doors and windows where there’s construction. Connor looks upset at the idea of having to wipe his hands, gloves or not, on his pants. Freddie makes the dash for more paper towels which he wets and touches to Connor’s palm, blotting the brown splotches.

Connor looks amused by the show of devotion. “It’s a bit of dirt, it’s not going to kill me. I’m in it all the time at home.”

The opportunity to learn more presents itself. Freddie leans in to hear more. “Are you big on landscaping?”

“I have a bunch of plants back at home. Tomatoes, carrots, that sort of deal.”

Connor never looked like he was the gardener type. Now that it’s out in the open, it makes _some_ lick of sense.

Connor goes on to explain. “I got my green thumb from my mom. I always helped out in her garden. Plus, I save money on having to buy tomatoes.”

“Tomatoes, huh?”

“Good for salads.”

It’s weird to think of Connor eating something that are not the slices of cold pizza or precooked noodles he keeps in a tin. It might just be a working thing.

He pushes Connor back with one hand, leaning down so that their eyes sit on the same level.

“Go home, have a nice hot shower.”

Connor’s eyes half-close. “You’re not paying me, are you?”

“While you’re here, I’m your boss.”

“Not paying me,” Connor sing-songs. Freddie tries to get another word in but Connor is on the move. He leaves Freddie standing there.

Connor can be infuriating when he’s not listening to orders. He goes home steaming. Connor doesn’t make anything easy. He knew this getting into it; he imagines Connor has had to entertain the company of many friends and admirers over the years and grew a thick skin because of it, not one to be won over by grand gestures.

He’ll see about that.

If Connor wants his own plant nursery to keep him busy, Freddie has no problems with including it. It’s where he’s putting it that’s going to be the problem. 

Unfortunately, in a city like Toronto a large backyard garden comes at the cost of the house’s infrastructure and space; for Freddie a large interior is a must. Growing a garden comes with its own fair share of problems because of the tendency for Canadian winters to hang on for as long as possible. A greenhouse would not fit the architecture of the house, so he has to improvise.

Something small and indoors brings him to the internet for ideas. A bit of green inside the house would be nice; bring some life to the modern look. There’s a lot to think about. The large windows in the kitchen mean they’re bringing a lot of natural light in. The counter ledge would be perfect for a small home garden.

He calls the designer in for a second opinion. She’s someone new. He didn’t want his work life to blend in with the personal. 

“I would love to have it as a form of art, if that makes sense,” he says, in regards to having plants inside.

“Oh, it does,” she tells him. She holds her clipboard close to her chest. “Were you thinking of something like a full out wall of moss or something more manageable for day to day living?”

“He likes the small glass terrarium planters from the house we are working on, so if we could make space for that over the living room couch I think it’d be perfect.” He walks over to where his brain is putting the picture together. He’s happy to see the drywall is up so that he can point out the spots where the art pieces can go.

The woman’s face brightens. “Is this a spouse house?”

Freddie turns around, both eyebrows up. He waits for her to explain.

Something clicks, he can see it in her eyes. She must read his non-verbal response as him taking offence. Both of her hands rise up. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were speaking about your husband. I should not have assumed.”

How she says the word _husband_ smacks him across the face. “I don’t understand.”

“From the way you were talking outside, I thought this was going to be a family home.”

“Oh, no.” He puts a stop to her backpedalling. “You’re right. This house is a gift. I’m sorry, I was confused by your phrasing.”

The words come out so easily. No shame accompanies them.

It brings her back to him, a smile on her lips. “I’m glad to hear it. Yes, I think the glass would work nice here. If you want to add colour to the bedroom you could put up a wooden palette and some string lights, that is if your partner is about the customizable projects.”

“He loves working with his hands.”

“So do-it-yourself projects won’t be off the table, that’s good to know. If the palette is too much, then the garden wall boxes are the same idea. Use succulents and they’re low maintenance.”

Freddie grins to himself. “Like him.”

“I think if he’s as big a plant lover as you say he is, anything you do will be nice. When we’re ready to do furnishings I’ll bring some in samples for you to look at. You should bring the husband in, see what tickles his fancy.

“Thank you, but I have a feeling he won’t be seeing the house until it’s move-in ready.”

“You’re going for the full-out surprise, I see. Well, let me know how it goes. I’m an email away if you have any questions.”

“Thanks.”

Once an idea for Connor’s dream home, Freddie can’t help but insert himself into the floor plans. He was there when he was browsing furniture catalogue, buying into Scandinavian furniture for himself, nice contemporary pieces that go with the white surfaces. It was for the visual aesthetic. Now, he can’t help but think a part of it was for him. He wants to be in Connor’s life.

He wants this to be _their_ house. He can’t see any reason why it can’t be. Connor could use someone with an eye like him anyway. 

He calls up his father and drops a small project in late July he had going for him. That leaves only the Morris house and Bird house for him to be working on. Once upset at him, his parents turn a new leaf when they find it’s going to be Freddie’s house. Well-not _just_ his house but proof he’ll be settling down and starting a family. There are no hard feelings after that.

Play by play, room by room, his vision is coming together. With framing and drywall done he can finally start installing the design choices he would like to see made happen. Of all the trouble that comes with taking on a big project such as this one, the one big upside is having the freedom to do as he wishes. If he wants the floor to be hardwood, stained a dark colour to be in contrast to the white kitchen cabinets and walls, then that’s what will happen. Knowing him, he wouldn’t be able to settle for much less.

The biggest installation they have that day would be the fireplace mantle in the living room. He decides to go for the Hamptons style with a slate surround he can use to tile with something later. They won’t need him in there for anymore more than looking at space constraints, so he can set his eyes on what will be the next big step in creating the perfect house: a nice kitchen.

Bringing in more consultants seems like the best plan. They’re the ones that track down his yarn ball thoughts, unravelling each thread and helping it make more sense. He trusts their judgement and when he doesn’t, well he has a lot of connections. It’s not the end of the world. To say interior design isn’t his calling would make you right, it’s the building side of things he’s not worried about.

The kitchen and by extension the dining room table can make or break a house for buyers. He’s seen families that are up for smashing a hole in the house just to give themselves another metre of space. This one needs to be big, for when he has family over. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter dinner all come to mind. He does the math, three members of family on Connor’s side and five on his not counting aunts and uncles or nieces and nephews. They’re going to need something that can handle that and has a moment of panic when he looks at the wall placement and wonders how he is going to be able to use this space for what he wants it to do.

He doesn’t come to a decision yet. He has to move the cabinets around and more importantly, find where he’s going to put the island. Marble countertops are something that are more trouble than they’re worth, and knowing that they scratch easily means he might have to go with the granite instead. The sample he looks at has bold veining around the corners, he likes it.

The backsplash is another place he inserts some creative input. Because he didn’t go for marble counters, a nice marble herringbone would make up for it. Add in the glass terrariums and the green helps wake up the monochromatic colour scheme he has going. With plants, for his dear Connor.

He keeps the dining table casual, with low chairs and above the plating a wood beam with twisted cords that hang Edison bulbs down. If you reach up you can touch them. Freddie has them raised higher than the selling model because of his height, not wanting to bend over every time he sits down to stop himself from hitting his head. Connor won’t have to worry about that or the door frames, given his smaller size. 

Once just another project, he now wants to be in the house at all times. It is the staple of what will be a brighter future. It reminds him so much of Connor. 

He considers that to be a great compliment toward his work, seeing as how Connor has never set foot in the place.

An hour into their shifts and Freddie helping Connor put a band-aid on a bad scrape. Somehow, Connor has gone and skidded the skin of his leg. He won’t tell Freddie what happened.

Freddie is fighting his own problems. Just that morning Connor had to work with some of the insulation in the attic. Freddie was holding the ladder, using his “big strong arms” as Connor put it. One of Connor’s boots hanging down from the ceiling was all that he or anyone else could see to know Connor was there.

Freddie had one look at the open hatch and could only think about shutting it and keeping Connor in there so that tomorrow he would know where he is. Holding it closed as Connor’s fists beat on the wood.

He purged the thought the second he could process it.

He has to wrestle back control, stop tapping his foot when he sees the reflective yellow fabric on Connor’s jacket flash in the corner of his eye. Every time he looks at the clock waiting for eleven-thirty, time slows down.

Yet, when lunch rolls around it’s like someone has cleaved his words from him. Connor keeps moving around like nothing happened. His fingers touch the band-aid gingerly.

Freddie attempts to make some small talk. “What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do in your job?” 

Luckily for him, he would never call Connor the most observant person he knows. He takes the bait without noticing the pained look on Freddie’s face.

“As a contractor? I dunno. I much rather prefer putting stuff in as opposed to fixing what’s already there. We had a case with a woman who called us in because she hired a nonelectrical contractor to do the work. Turns out the wiring made it so that if we put any insulation in, the whole place would burn down. Not fun going in and touching the breakers and jumpers where the sparks were. Feared for my fucking life.”

“You’re brave.”

“You gotta be. You have to be too, I imagine.”

Freddie waves him away with one hand. “I sit in front of a computer all day, don’t kid yourself.”

“Mm. That sounds nice.”

Freddie laughs. “The eyestrain isn’t but I know what you mean.”

Connor stretches out beside him. His joints click. “Ah, I could never do it. I need to keep my hands busy.”

“You could always do something freelance. You get a taste of the whole rainbow there.”

Connor’s lip turns. “Nah. I can’t be my own boss, that’s a recipe for disaster. Someone’s got to be telling me what I have to do.”

“Sounds like where you are is perfect, then.”

“Yeah, this is perfect. I like this.” He leans his head back, pressing it flat to the drywall. The sheets of red hair on his head splay out behind him. 

Freddie likes this too. There’s something about being with Connor indoors, with only the portable fan for air conditioning, that makes everything come together like fine wine.

Connor and the Bird house are synonymous now. Connor is the one giving him the nesting material he needs to construct something magnificent, whether he knows it or not. Freddie wants to study him like an exhibit for more.

During the Bird house’s construction and coming-to-be completion, Freddie has to fight ideas of change. Every day they spend in each other’s company, every time their shoulders or hands brush, thousands of new ideas come to life. Freddie wants to give each one equal opportunity to become real. This house is supposed to be a love letter, after all.

Connor would look good in pastels and warm, bright colours. He looks like someone from a different decade. The days of wood panelling and walls of glass; like the ladies in knee-length swing dresses. He has half of the mind to turn the house into a living monument to the sixties but doesn’t think he could live in a hell like that for the rest of his life. 

With Connor, simplicity is key. Going above and beyond in the ways that it does not matter won’t do much in the long run. Connor’s the type of guy to call a cake good because of how thick the icing is layered and not the batter that was mixed in to make the flavour in the first place. He has to be careful as to not spread himself too thin.

Once a day, there comes a small request. Update the air conditioning system because Connor gets hot easily. Paint the window frames red. Make the downstairs area a gym because Connor cannot afford the membership as is.

He mulls over how many bedrooms to give them. Three is a good, rounded number. They can comfortably have people over. At the same time, it’s an invitation. He doesn’t want to have to be sharing Connor with his family every weekend.

He guts out the third bedroom and puts nothing in it. If they need to use it, then they will. It could be anything. It will probably be a child’s bedroom.

Now that the Morris house is coming close to being done, Freddie has to get his ducks in a row. He already has work lined up on the next house, a bungalow up north. He’s going to be leaving behind the subcontractors they hired for the project, meaning he and Connor will go their own ways. 

Freddie may never see him again, only having the Bird house to serve as a memory of him. That would be the case if he was leaving any of this up to random chance.

Connor doesn’t know anything, he’s talking about using his day off to visit family and chiropractor for his sore back. Freddie uses a combination of wordplay and talking up the chain of command to get his hands on Connor’s schedule. He knows the higher-ups, after all; plans on hiring them for their work on his house by the end of August. Like they’d turn down a job for him. 

On Connor’s schedule, there’s a giant hole where there should be working hours. Connor will be gone for some time, so it seems. Must have booked it off years in advance. 

Which is good, he needs him out of the house for what he’s doing to do.

He rings up his friend Jorah, someone he knows from Anaheim. She lives an hour out in one of the bedroom communities, always on the move. She’s his eyes and ears, an expert in building code violations. It’s rare that he has a reason to call her like this, over dinner no less.

“You’re very peppy tonight,” she says about ten minutes into their call. They got a bit carried away. “So what’s the reason you’re calling me for?”

“Thank you for reminding me. I was actually tipped off about a neighbouring house not having up-to-date lead testing records. I was wondering if legally we could look into that.”

“Are there any problems?”

“The landlord is refusing to look into it. I was inside for only a minute and had my suspicions.”

“Sure, we could send someone over, if you want to foot the bill that is.”

“My boyfriend lives there, I have his permission,” he lies through his teeth. 

“Boyfriend?” Her voice twangs. “Oh, Freddie. You haven’t introduced me, what’s the story?”

“We met on one of my projects, he’s an electrician.”

“I had no idea you were dating.”

“The thing is,” Freddie continues, “he lives in this dreadful place. I’m not even overexaggerating when I say it’s falling apart. Problem is, he’s signed his year lease. I can’t get him out using the usual means here.”

“So what’s the plan? Don’t tell me you’re going to go about this illegally, Fred.”

“I need to do this, it’s his health on the line. Can you help me or not?”

Since building the Bird house, he’s used these words so frequently. Never say that Frederik Andersen does nothing for anybody. He’s been waiting for years to cash in all these favours.

He schedules the testing when he knows. It will only take a few hours and Connor has all day to do as he wills on his day off. Jorah’s team leaves Freddie a voicemail when they finish, telling him the results will be available in about ten business days. 

He doesn’t get a lot of time to think about what it is he’s done. The homeowners for Morris house come back with some small corrections. It’s been their demands toward this renovation that have made the project drag out for as long as it has. They have decided they will go ahead with rearranging the placement of appliances in the bathroom to make room for a washing machine, seeing as how the original placement of the laundry room made him have to really think about how he was going to get stairs going into the basement.

He’s been more hands-on for Morris house than any other, which is seriously telling. He can’t help but feel it gives him a closer connection to his boy. He ups how much time he can spend with Connor, nursing his wounds and making trips to the water cooler to refill Connor’s water bottle for him. Not every day will be a day with a conversation or even a single look but Freddie’s feelings persist. 

It’s rather concerning that his work has just become a way to flaunt his tail feathers in front of Connor but he can’t do much about that now. 

He waits ten days and gets a call from Jorah about what her team found. His fingers tremble as they grip his phone case.

“We didn’t find any lead-based paint but there’s a mould problem, no doubt about that. I wouldn’t call it life threatening but the basement is covered wall to wall in the stuff.”

Freddie’s disappointment is short-lived. She has traded him something of equal value.

“The house is a rental.” He’s still figuring out what to do as he speaks, meaning his words come out slower than intended. “The landlord should be responsible for something like that.”

“There are rules and regulations. It will take me a minute to pull them up.”

“Thanks.”

He hears the clicking from her keyboard. Jorah clears her throat.

“Yeah I can’t say for sure if it meets the requirements if the majority of it isn’t black but if you want me to fudge the numbers for you--”

“That would be great.” Freddie is curt. He has a lot to think about. So much to do. 

Another tap of the keys. He hears clutter in the background, like Jorah is looking for a pen in the holder she keeps next to her computer, on the corner of her desk.

A black mould problem is enough to seek damages but Freddie knows the owner will probably fight it in court if he suspects the tenants are responsible for the problem. He wouldn’t put it past them. He doesn’t want to ruin the person’s livelihood, God no, but he wants Connor out of the house. 

He goes online, finds a listing from a year back when the landlord was looking for one more tenant to fill the rooms with. It’s too late for a phone call so he emails the address at the bottom of the man’s bio and types up a nice letter. He knows what to say. In his job, he’s trained to deal with the unreasonable. The landlord is going to be just another stepping stone.

That Friday is his first time meeting the couple in person and not over an internet connection. They sing his praises.

Freddie has been out for over a week, working on the floorplan for the new property he’s working on. They didn’t need him at the Morris house to check for miswirings--it’s the kind of stuff that can be fixed even after the new owners move in--so he’s not too worried. The only other problem he can think of would be if the owners wanted something else, like a hot tub or another washing machine, both of which would require some alterations and a new circuit.

The interior designers are already getting to work. Freddie is only back to make sure everything has been finished in the kitchen and ensuites. They were his big worries. He sees now that the light switches have been replaced with dimmers, another design choice that would keep the electricians busy. Probably their last, the contract is up today. There are mixed feelings all around. Freddie swears he sees at least one celebratory shot glass on his first walk through.

It takes some searching but he eventually finds Connor, on his phone in one of the back rooms eating finger foods. Freddie can see his thumb swipe up. 

He steps over small patches of floor debris they’ve swept up and walks over. It takes a minute for Connor to realize Freddie is even there in the room with him. In that time, Freddie can see he’s on a page for apartment listings. 

“What are you up to?” he asks.

Connor doesn’t look up. “Just looking at places.”

“What kind of places?”

“Apartments.”

“Did you get moved out? What happened?” He tells himself one minute too late to calm down. From an outsider’s perspective, he’s much too invested.

“Jus’ stupid stuff.”

“Do you have anywhere to go?”

Connor stuffs some chips into his mouth. “It’s not that big a deal. I just need to be alone, really.”

He respects his wishes and backs out only because he doesn’t want Connor blowing up on him. Besides, he has a few phone calls to make.

With the wall sockets finally installed, much of the electrical engineering portion of the building is done. The team thins out, workers moving onto bigger and better projects. Freddie paces himself, does his assessment and gives them the seal of approval. 

There’s still work to be done, just not electrical or plumbing work. Instead of talking about breakers there will be the discussion of changing paint colours to better fit the furniture choices and the drama that comes with trying to organize a living space with four or five parties weighing in. The kind of job you couldn’t pay Freddie to do.

He’s glad to know he’s getting the next few days off. This is going to be a big change for both of them. Connor’s none the wiser as the day pulls to a close. Even hours later, Freddie can see the worried look on his face jump out. Now’s the perfect time to proposition him. 

“Hey, Connor.” He knocks his knuckles on the table Connor is sitting at. “You should come stay at my place.”

“What?” Connor tips his head back to look at Freddie. His face is a deep pink colour.

Freddie wants to kiss the uneven corners of his mouth where a frown sits. It almost makes all the toying with him not worth it. 

“If you need a place to go, I have a house I’m working on downtown. It’s still under construction and I do need some help with electrical work. You could be a live-in worker, at least until you get back on your feet.”

“Oh, that’s kind of you but I’m all right.”

“I know it’s a lot all at once but I just had a contractor back out. I could really use your help. And I would pay you, it’s not a handout.” Connor’s pride is probably the only thing he’s worried about. He has to cover his bases, frame it as a job opportunity. Make it something Connor can’t refuse but what he believes he can.

Connor is quiet. Freddie doesn’t work on him any longer. He fires away some texts, looks over the bright red notification banner on his phone.

And then, “I mean, I don’t want to inconvenience you. Are you sure they’re all right with me being there?”

“I offered, I’m sure. How about you give me your address and I drive you over to get your stuff.”

Connor bumps his shoulder with his. “You know my address, you’ve been to my house.”

“Oh, yeah. I might need a refresher, I haven’t been there in a while.”

He gets into Freddie’s car without asking any more questions. It’s dangerous how he relaxes in front of Freddie, head balancing on the tongue of his seatbelt. It’s not a long drive. Freddie could use the time on the road to butter him up. He’d rather keep the peace.

After a quick stop at Connor’s house made awkward by the landlord being on the scene and recognizing Freddie, he pulls all the way into the Bird house driveway. Connor is taking the whole thing in with his mouth open just a touch. 

“This place is beautiful,” Connor says in awe. The house is only about three quarters finished. It’s a nice compliment.

“Thank you. I like it too.”

“I thought you said you didn’t grow attached to your projects.”

Freddie turns his head to the side. “That’s because it’s my house, Connor.”

Connor sits up straight. “What?”

“I thought about what you said and you’re right, it _is_ pathetic that I don’t have a place of my own. So, I bought the lot. I’m making my own thing.”

“Is this actually your place?” Freddie nods. “Oh wow. That’s awesome! I can’t wait to see it.”

He walks by Freddie’s side up the path to the front door, is nothing but smiles as he walks in and the smell of fresh paint and newness hits them both in the face, Freddie better adjusted than Connor is. Freddie pushes him in with one hand on the small of his back. The open floor plan swallows Connor whole. 

He looks so small standing in the depressed seating area. One pillowback sofa touches the backs of his knees, a four-seater for when they have company over. It has about six pillows on the cushions, half of them with a nice pinstripe pattern Freddie himself picked out.

The lights burn from above. It’s beginning to get dark outside and Connor still has his bag over one shoulder. Freddie taps his waist with two fingers. He holds his hand out, waiting for Connor to give the bag to him. No sense in having it on for the whole tour.

He gives Connor the guest bedroom. No lights work in the room yet, and won’t until Connor can look into it. The only window is the skylight looking down at Connor. One tiny hole for him to look out of.

He made the house beautiful but beautiful things exist in nature for a reason.

What would Connor say, if he knew the lines he ran connected to the keypad beside the door were responsible for the video monitors and digital door locks Freddie had worked into the infrastructure of the house? 

He would say nothing. Connor doesn’t ask questions, he’s too polite to.

Freddie resumes old plans and starts building on the house again. The kitchen and living room are functional but everywhere else begins to unravel. He learns so much about Connor in rapid succession just from being around him so much. Any inconsistencies with the house will be stomped out by the heel of his boot.

First, he starts out by expanding the bathroom on the ground floor, the only working one in the house besides the ensuite. It means that Connor has no choice but to go in and out of his bedroom when he needs to freshen up or relieve himself. Freddie assures him it won’t be a problem, as he’s up before Connor is every morning. That doesn’t stop him from hearing Connor right after he goes to bed, listening to him shower in there when he thinks Freddie is asleep.

He takes it one step further and guts the guest bedroom. Connor moves in on an air mattress and then joins him in the queen-sized bed when his back problems start up again from poor support; Freddie has to be careful not to make it weird or he’ll leave. They laugh over shit coffee and the single working lamp in the room. They both spread out in bed, hot with summer heat and no air conditioning. 

To make it feel more like home, he moves in pictures of Connor’s family with his permission; old photographs of him as a child, things he has grown up having by his bedside. They get drunk and laugh over them. Freddie brings out his own. They end up, knees knocking together, as they hang over the bed in what’s probably the greatest show of love so far.

Connor decides on the colours for rooms, helps move in couches and put together armchairs. In plain sight, he sees Freddie put stops on the windows to keep them from opening. Whether he believes it’s not his place to or that he thinks it’s not his problems, Connor is content to say nothing. 

He probably should, many of Freddie’s adventures in home security are much less obvious. He put a window bar up to reinforce the back sliding glass door under the guise of it being a security measure. He plants prickly bushes under the first floor windows. Window sensors with small circuits sit on the window frame.

He has two different wifi networks on his router, one for Connor and one for him. His is unlimited, needs to be for work. Connor’s is not. Blessed be parental controls and how they let him monitor what Connor does. Freddie doesn’t mean to see the messages Connor writes to his mother and older brother about finding a house to call home but he does, and is swayed by them.

Like a spider spinning her web, Freddie completely changes that house with Connor still inside the belly. He begins to shut rooms out, rebuilds and redesigns the guest bedroom only to put it behind a double lock with a key only he has access to. Connor’s not going back there.

Connor spends almost all of his time at the house now. It’s close to being finished. Connor’s belongings continue to stack up against the walls with no shame. The cat tower was something Freddie bought for his cat when Connor realized he couldn’t sit with the homesick feeling that came with not having a cat to take care of. He looked so scared when he came to Freddie, prefacing his request with the words, “I know you’ve already done so much for me.”

Freddie’s had the cat bowls and treats in a downstairs cupboard for ages, it’s really of no inconvenience to him, though he’ll never tell him that. He still takes Connor shopping, lets him go on a splurge and get the best for the best.

Freddie has started bringing home more plants to add to the indoor gardens, something that keeps Connor very busy. Plant health is nothing to scoff at; it feels like every day Connor is organizing and rearranging. Freddie put him in charge of them, which sounds a lot like an order but over time stops becoming another expectation of his job. They’re not Freddie’s plants anymore, they’re Connor’s, beautiful things that begin to crowd the door and camouflage it into the background.

The more time he spends with Connor the more bitter the reality of it all is. Having Connor all to himself just isn’t an option anymore. While Freddie’s glad to have a liveable house with all the appliances and amenities he could hope for, it means that he’s going to have to send Connor back into the workforce when there’s no more work to be done. He doesn’t know what else he could add to the house to keep Connor put.

He hasn’t seen Connor looking up places to stay. Even the Facebook group advertisements haven’t gotten so much as a click. Freddie would not call that reassuring. At least if Connor was choosing to leave, Freddie would know what to say to him. As it is, Connor is a wildcard. He could just be saying nothing in order to be polite.

When it becomes clear that Connor won’t bring it up himself, Freddie has to take matters into his own hands. 

He cooks them dinner that night, a simple combination of tomato soup and sandwiches. There’s an HBO show on in the background, filling the room for them. Dinner usually comes packaged with some nice lukewarm conversation. That night, the tension hangs over them like an ageing chandelier on a thin chain. 

“Do you want to stay here, Connor?” Freddie says, long after they have broken bread and drained their glasses.

Connor’s spoon scrapes his bowl, the red soup gushing over the edges of utensil. 

“You mean like, live here?”

“I know the house is almost finished but I’m so used to having you here, it wouldn’t be right for you to leave on my behalf.”

“I do like it here. It’s work I’m worried about.”

“I can take care of that for you. The decision is yours.”

It’s a calculated risk he’s taking. Connor, who has spent most of his adult life with three or more roommates, would be stupid to not go along with him and live with one other person in a house of all things, a house he’s had his mother over to, the same mother he introduced to Freddie. 

He’s grown roots here. It’s his home just as much as it is Freddie’s if not more so. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to stay here,” Connor says. “I do. I just feel like, being in between companies and all that I should start being more independent.”

“You buy your own groceries, have your own job. Being independent and sharing a house are not mutually exclusive.”

“I know.”

“We could both help each other out in that department.”

“Still, I’m asking too much of you.”

“Connor,” Freddie’s voice goes stern. “I said you could stay, what part of that don’t you understand?”

Connor tries to put up a fight. “Freddie—“

“I asked you to stay so you’re staying. It’s not a question anymore.”

“So now you’re threatening me?”

“I’m saying that if you won’t make the decision then I’ll make it for you.”

“I’m not saying I’m not grateful or that I don’t want to stay here. All I’m saying is that it’s weird I’m living with my kind-of boss.”

Freddie’s heart sinks. He would have thought Connor saw him as more than that by now.

“Connor, this is just as much your house. I remodelled parts of it for you.”

“Why me?” Connor asks. The way he says it makes it seem like he has an inclination about what the real answer is.

“Because all you have ever wanted was a place to call your own, so I’m giving it to you. Because I can and because you deserve it.”

Connor says nothing more, him being deep in thought. They finish up dinner and Freddie takes the dishes to put in the dishwasher. Connor is still up to his act. Freddie has yet to determine if it’s the cold shoulder or the realization. He thinks, it would be too soon for the latter. He would need another push.

He’s not sure what Connor will do that night but he’s not going to run his chances if it could backfire. When Connor is tired of watching television and goes upstairs to tug on his thin pyjamas, Freddie uses the sound of the laugh track in the background to hide him punching numbers in the keypad beside the door, locking it for everyone who doesn’t know the password.

He bolts the bedroom door shut from the inside using the locks on the top of the door, keeping one set of keys around his neck where Connor wouldn’t think to look and wouldn’t succeed in retrieving. 

He wakes up before Connor anyway, so there’s no need to worry about Connor figuring it out. And if he doesn’t, Connor learns his first lesson of many.

**Author's Note:**

> warnings exist for entrapment and obsessive behaviour; freddie grows an infatuation with connor only after a few conversations with him. he begins thinking of ways to “keep” him, including trapping him in the attic he’s working in. he goes behind connor’s back and bribes his landlord to break the lease on account of health code violations in connor’s house--a problem that wouldn’t have been found if not for freddie’s meddling--and uses this as an opportunity to move him into his new house. when in the house, freddie makes it harder and harder for connor to leave, installing security measures that make escape much harder and adding emotional connections (connor’s cat, pictures of his family) so he’s conditioned to want to stay. he also manipulates Connor using his knowledge of him, making him sleep on an air mattress when he knows he has back problems. when connor thinks about leaving, freddie asserts that he will not go. unsure if connor will leave or not, freddie puts the house on lockdown and insinuates that it will remain that way until connor has no desire to leave him.
> 
> come talk to me @cursivecherrypicking on tumblr!


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